Metamorphosis
by rhymenocerous
Summary: Post 3x15 This Sorrowful Life. Carol anxiously awaits Daryl's return to the prison, while thinking back on how things have changed over the past year, some for the better, others for the worse. Rated M for future language and potential adult situations. It is a Caryl fic, after all.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

**Hello all. This is my first attempt at writing something for The Walking Dead. I have written a number of stories in another fandom, but found myself uninspired, disheartened and disinterested, which lead to a very long dry spell for me. I have been lurking quite a lot in TWD FanFiction of late, quietly enjoying the fruits of other peoples' labours, while feeling like a heel for not contributing myself. So I began wracking my tiny little pea brain for ideas and this is what I have come up with. Not entirely sure where it's going as this is all I've written so far, kind of as a litmus test to see if anyone is remotely interested in taking this journey with me. **

**I'm going to shut up now, as I tend to go on and on in Author's Notes unless I physically restrain myself.**

**Summary: They all knew, without any of them having to voice the words, that Merle wasn't planning on coming back. His had been a one-way ticket, a last-ditch attempt to provide their small group - their family - with a chance; a chance to win, to beat the Governor. To survive. Not because it was what he wanted, but because he knew that his little brother - the sole constant in his tumultuous life - had chosen them. Daryl wanted to stay. So for the first time in his life, Merle had put his brother ahead of himself.**

* * *

**Prologue**

_What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly._

_- Richard Bach_

She didn't even want to blink lest she miss them, two figures emerging from the thick line of trees surrounding the prison. She had been sitting on the edge of the guard tower, her legs dangling over the side for hours now. It seemed almost a lifetime ago that Rick had come into the cell block with Michonne at his side, the dark, mysterious woman filling in the small group of survivors on her ordeal with Merle. Glancing around the cold, dank room where they shared their meals, Carol had taken in the expressions of those around her once the woman had finished her tale. She saw Glenn's head dip, his face hidden in the shadow under the brim of his ball cap. Rick stood stoically by the stairs, his expression grim, his son at his side, his head bowed. Hershel, Beth and Maggie all looked torn between horror at Merle's abduction of Michonne, following Rick's misguided attempt to sacrifice one of their group for the greater good, and heartbreak when they heard of his sudden change of heart, and her subsequent release. They all knew, without any of them having to voice the words, that Merle wasn't planning on coming back. His had been a one-way ticket, a last-ditch attempt to provide their small group - their family - with a chance; a chance to win, to beat the Governor. To survive. Not because it was what he wanted, but because he knew that his little brother - the sole constant in his tumultuous life - had chosen them. Daryl wanted to stay. So for the first time in his life, Merle had put his brother ahead of himself.

Still, Carol reasoned, maybe Daryl had gotten there in time. Before Merle did... whatever it was he was going to do, maybe Daryl had caught up to him. In her mind's eye she pictured Daryl pleading with his brother, ever hopeful that after everything, Merle could still find a place in their group.

She shook her head, bringing herself back to the present. As soon as the group had broken up after Michonne's return, Carol had headed straight for the guard tower, eschewing her regular duties of cooking the daily meals and organizing the domestic side of their lives. She felt constricted by the suddenly oppressive walls of the prison and needed fresh air. Solitude. She didn't want to hear their reassurances. She didn't want them to tell her that everything was going to be fine. She wanted - no, needed - to keep watch for him. For them.

She sighed, resting her chin on the cool metal of the railing. The sun was beginning to set and it was getting harder to differentiate individual shapes on the darkening tree line. She rubbed her tired eyes with her fists before refocusing her gaze on the fence. She knew that both men were capable - more than capable, actually - of surviving for the night out in the wilderness. They were nothing if not survivalists. Still, she didn't like it. She never liked it when one of their group was away for very long. But this was different. This wasn't some supply run into a nearby town, or one of Daryl's hunting trips into the surrounding forest to bring back meat to keep the group well fed. This was something completely different.

A lump formed in her throat as she recalled the last time he'd left the prison. He'd gone with Rick and Michonne to bring back Glenn and Maggie from the Woodbury. She recalled her elation at seeing the little SUV as it approached the gate, a mile-wide smile on her face as she stepped toward the vehicle and peered in the windows. And the soul-crushing grief when she'd realized he wasn't there. Rick had quietly explained everything to her; they'd found Merle. Daryl refused to abandon him again, and when forced to choose, he'd chosen his brother over them.

Her eyes welled with tears as she considered the possibility that Daryl had found Merle once again, and that somehow, the elder brother had worked his wiles and convinced Daryl once and for all that they would be better off alone. After all, Merle was blood. Daryl's real family. And what were they? A group of people pooling their resources for a better chance at survival.

She blinked and felt the wetness on her cheeks, no longer able to hold back her tears. Her stomach knotted and she lowered her head, pressing her forehead against the cold railing and clenching her jaw, taking deep breaths. After years living with a physically and emotionally violent man, she'd honed her skills at hiding her emotions, allowing herself only a moment to wallow in her sorrow before she swallowed hard and raised her head, deftly swiping the evidence of her tears from her face.

She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned, eyes wide with fright to see Rick crouched down behind her, an apology evident on his face.

"Sorry," he said quietly, moving to settle on the floor beside her. "I thought you heard me."

She shook her head, offering him the faintest hint of a smile. "It's all right," she assured him. "Serves me right for drifting off when I'm supposed to be on watch."

Rick nodded, his gaze lingering momentarily on her face before it shifted to the borders of the prison grounds. He squinted into the darkness "Anything?"

"Not yet," she replied, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.

"Why don't you go on inside?" Rick suggested, gently nudging her with his shoulder. "Get warm. Get something to eat. Get some rest. I'm taking first watch tonight."

Carol shook her head, pulling her thin cardigan more tightly around her slender shoulders. "I'm fine."

"Carol..."

"I said I'm fine," she said, her tone more prickly than she'd intended. She sighed, hazarding a glance at Rick. "I really am fine," she repeated, her tone softer. "I just... I want to be out here a little longer. I can't go back inside and just pretend that everything is alright when he... when they are out there somewhere. It wouldn't be right."

Rick turned to look at her, understanding in his eyes. "Alright, have it your way," he said, his tone lighter than his words might suggest. "You've been hanging around Daryl too much. Getting to be just as stubborn as he is." Carol couldn't help but let a small smile creep across her face at his words. She could think of worse things than being compared to the solidly dependable, albeit temperamental redneck. Rick grinned back at her. "At least let me get you a warmer sweater and something to eat, okay? Then you can keep me company up here for a little while longer."

With a grateful nod of her head, Carol watched Rick get to his feet, his lanky frame towering over her. He turned on his heel and she listened to the sound of his boots against the metal stairs, followed by the heavy door slamming shut at the base of the tower.

A gust of cool air breezed past her perch and she shivered, tucking her hands into her armpits and hunching her shoulders against the chill of the night. It was almost completely dark now, save for ripples of moonlight peeking out from behind patches of cloud that cut a scattered path across the yard, illuminating the stumbling shapes of the moaning figures meandering aimlessly down below. She watched them sadly. Even now, more than a year after the outbreak first began, she still felt tinges of sadness for the lives the infected used to lead, for all that they would never know they had lost.

Her eyes misted once again for her little girl. Until that day, they had merely been monsters. Nameless, faceless wraiths instilling fear into the souls of the living, some evil thing to be destroyed. But her Sophia wasn't evil. She was good, through and through. Yet still, she came stumbling out of that barn, yearning for flesh. Heedless of the familiar faces that surrounded her, she gnashed and growled, taking step after step toward a new source of food, nothing more. She didn't recognize the faces of her friend Carl, or Lori who had been so kind to her. She didn't recognize her own mother, lying in the dirt, wailing and struggling against the strong arms of the silent hunter that had always made sure Sophia's belly never went empty night after night in their camp at the quarry.

Carol sniffled, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her cardigan and giving her head a shake. She rarely let herself think about that day. It was all just too painful. For some reason it hurt all the more to think of Sophia without Daryl around. He was her confidant. On the rare occasions when she felt compelled to talk about her beloved daughter, he was the one person who would quietly sit and listen to her without judgement or pity. He would sit beside her in silent understanding and let her talk until she couldn't anymore. Without a word, he would slide his strong arms around her and allow her to weep into his shoulder until her tears were spent. He would offer her that crooked smile that she liked to think he saved especially for her. Then he would nod, disentangle himself from her and they would go back to their daily routine. It didn't happen often, but those moments between them meant the world to Carol.

Since the night that he had exploded at her when she'd come to find him at his isolated camp on the Greene's farm, Daryl had shown her a different side of himself. He had grown over that first, horrible winter after the farm had been overrun, proving himself a loyal and trustworthy companion, willing to go to any lengths for their small band of nomads. And he had even begun to open up to a select few in the group, allowing them to see the slightly mischievous little boy who had been safely hidden deep down inside after a childhood of torment and neglect.

The sound of boots clunking loudly up the stairs drew her back from her musings and she turned in time to see Rick appear in the doorway, a bowl of stew in one hand an a familiar garment draped over his arm. He set the bowl down on the floor beside her and draped Daryl's poncho over her shoulders before picking up the rifle from the table where she supposed he'd laid it when he came to check on her the first time. He leaned back against the wall and raised his leg, letting his foot rest on the bottom rung of the railing as he gazed out over the yard.

Carol closed her eyes and pulled the poncho tighter around her shoulders, burying her face in its warm folds and breathing in deeply, taking comfort in the familiar scent that lingered there; earth, motor oil, smoke and sweat. _Him_. She smiled, losing herself as she nuzzled into the rough fabric, suddenly flooded with memories. Clinging to his back as she rode behind him on his bike. His arms picking up her fragile form, carrying her to safety from the solitary cell she had been so certain would become her tomb. His face, flushed with pride as he bestowed the fruits of his latest hunt to her, already skinned and butchered to save her from any extra work. His eyes bright with joy as Judith's tiny hand reached for him. That smile, just for her.

So lost in her memories was she, that she almost missed the sudden movement beside her as Rick righted himself from his relaxed stance, raising the rifle to his shoulder and peering through the sight at something in the distance.

"What? What is it?" she asked, her remembrances forgotten as she scrambled to her feet, her eyes straining to see whatever had caught Rick's attention.

Rick shook his head minutely, his lips pressed tightly together, his eye still focused on the distance. "Not sure. Thought I saw somethi... Shit."

"What?" Carol demanded, her voice almost frantic now. "What do you see? Is it them? Are they back?"

Without a word, Rick handed Carol the rifle and she raised it to her shoulder, careful to keep her finger away from the trigger, and peered through the sight. It was dark and she squinted to focus her gaze. She grunted in frustration as whatever was moving through the edge of the woods disappeared behind a tree. Suddenly, a solitary figure emerged from the woods, stumbling, clearly struggling with exhaustion, hunger, and possible dehydration. Leaning forward carefully and resting her stomach against the railing, Carol blinked, willing the shadowy figure to come into focus.

The moon emerged from behind a cloud, eerily illuminating the scene before her and Carol felt her heart skip a beat in her chest when she saw the figure turn, revealing the faint outline of angel's wings on its back. She let out a little gasp and lowered the rifle, turning to face Rick with wide, hopeful eyes.

"It's him! It's Daryl!" she exclaimed. Before Rick could reply, she shoved the rifle into his arms and took off, pounding loudly down the stairs and shoving open the heavy door. She fumbled with the gate leading to the long, gravel path hedged in on either side by tall, wire fences topped with barbed wire, bits of dirt and grit taking flight as her feet beat a hasty trail toward the place where the figure now stooped, sagging tiredly against the fence.

"Daryl? Daryl!" she panted as she neared the area of the fence through which they had first entered the prison. They had laced a sturdy wire through the gap they had made, winding it through the chinks in the fence and securing it with a heavy padlock. Cursing herself for not remembering to bring the key, she hooked her fingers through the links and waited for Rick to join her, heedless of the tears that ran down her face as the figure righted itself, slowly turning to face her. "Oh my God. I was so worried! We were all so worr..."

Words died on the tip of her tongue and the smile slid from her face as the figure stepped toward her. Gaunt, lifeless eyes stared back at her from a pallid, rotting face. Hair matted to scalp with clumps of blood and dirt. Jacket torn at the shoulder revealing flesh torn away almost to the bone, a few tendons and lank muscle all that kept the arm attached. Gone were the steely blue eyes that accepted her teasing and offered understanding to her suffering. Gone was the slightly mussed hair that she secretly always longed to cut just a bit so she could get a better look at his handsome face. Gone was the soul that she had called friend.

She staggered backward, her mouth open in a silent scream as the creature took a lumbering step toward the fence. Moments ago she'd berated herself for not being able to open the fence for him. Now she hoped it would hold against his ferocious onslaught as he caught her scent, once nimble fingers clawing at her through the mesh.

She collapsed in on herself, crumbling to the ground as the sorrow of losing yet another person she loved to those things overwhelmed her. This time, there were no strong arms to hold her back. No friend to utter reassurances in her ear. She wondered, would it be easier? No pain. No sorrow. They'd lost so many already; Sophia, Amy, Jim, Lori, Shane, Jacqui, Patricia, Dale... there was only so much that a person could take. Maybe, just maybe there was some peace in the sheer mindlessness of the risen dead. Putting shaking hands on her knees, she pushed herself to her feet. She met the gaze of the bleary, muddied eyes devoid of life. Taking one last breath, she put one foot in front of the other toward her destiny.

* * *

**Ahem. So... kind of ended on a downer here. But fear not, intrepid reader! There is more to come. Kind of nervous here... this is fairly off the beaten track for me as a writer, what with the dead up and walking around and all. But I'm game if you are. Please let me know what you thought (love it? Hate it? Want to strangle me for leaving it the way I did? Let me know!). All thoughts are welcome, but please remember that I have feelings too (shocking!) so if you are going to criticize, please make it constructive!**

**Cheers,**

***rhymes***


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So it seems that there are a few out there who would like to see more from this story. Fine by me! Thank you to those of you who kindly left me a review or added this story to your list of favourites or follows. I am truly honoured!**

**I do hope you like where I've chosen to go for this chapter. I am still getting a feel for writing these characters. I have tried to stay true, but there is always a bit of an adjustment period when you write for a character for the first time. **

**Anywho, I'll leave you to get on with it now. Enjoy ^_^**

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Strong fingers gripped at her shoulders, shaking her violently. She cried out, willing it to all be over. _Bite me. Bite me_, she thought. _Bite me_. She held her breath, waiting for the sharp pain of teeth meeting flesh.

But it never came.

A frenzied voice hissed in her ear. Her name. Someone was calling her name.

Another shove.

"Carol? Come on now. Wake up!"

Her eyes snapped open, revealing an expanse of darkness. A relieved sigh came from behind her. Pushing herself up on unsteady arms, she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes before turning to see Rick's worried face illuminated only by the faint light of the moon once again hiding behind the clouds. A shaky smile crossed his grizzled features and he sat down heavily beside her.

"Jesus, Carol," he said, scrubbing at his face with his hands. "You scared the shit out of me. That must have been one hell of a bad dream you were having." He eyed her warily and she ducked her head, nodding once, her gaze fixed on her hands which fidgeted with the fraying hem of Daryl's poncho.

"Sorry," she mumbled, keeping her gaze averted, suddenly over come with a deep sense of shame. It had all been a dream. But it had seemed so very real. The emotions, the feeling of immense loss. The hopelessness of going on in a world without Daryl in it. Goddammit! Was she really that weak? She had managed to pick herself up and move on after the death of her own daughter, for Christ's sake. And now here she was, giving real thought to the idea of giving herself over to death over the loss of a friend? Granted, he was the best friend she'd ever had and she knew that if anything ever happened to him, she would be devastated. But surely, she would feel the same if something happened to any member of their tight-knit group, wouldn't she?

She pondered that thought for a moment, a tight knot forming in the pit of her stomach as she realized that wasn't true at all. Of course she had mourned the loss of others - most recently Lori and T-Dog - but she had moved on. She'd had no choice. The group had rallied and remained strong despite their dwindling numbers. No, she couldn't lie to herself anymore. What she felt for Daryl went far deeper than her feelings for anyone else in her life both past and present, with the one exception of Sophia. She had loved Sophia with all her heart. She clutched the poncho a little tighter around herself as she realized that she loved him too. She loved Daryl Dixon.

"You okay?"

She raised her head and turned to face Rick with an apologetic smile. "Yeah. I am," she said. "I just... I thought he was bit."

Rick placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently. "He'll be fine. You'll see," he assured with a confidence that was almost contagious. "What was it he said... Nothing can kill a Dixon but a Dixon? Him and Merle... they'll be back. You wait and see."

She nodded. "I think I'm gonna go inside," she said, using the railing to pull herself to her feet. She gathered the poncho in her arms and gave Rick a small smile when he bent and handed her the bowl of stew, now stone-cold.

"Warm that up when you get inside," he insisted. "You'll feel better with some food in your belly."

"Okay," she said, although she knew she wouldn't. Her stomach was tied in knots. "Stay safe out here," she said. "And... if... can you..."

"You'll be the first person I come to when he gets back, okay? I promise."

Carol smiled and slowly made her way down the stairs and across the courtyard. She slipped through the door and across the common area, tiptoeing through the cell block to the stairs leading to the second level. She crept along the catwalk, pausing outside of her own cell. She knew she wouldn't get a wink of sleep now, not after that dream. So she continued along to the second cell from the end. She pushed aside the blanket hung over the doorway for privacy and sunk down on to the hard cement floor, wrapping the poncho around her shoulders once more and looking around at her surroundings in the faint moonlight seeping in around the edge of the blanket in the doorway.

It was funny. She felt more at home here amongst his things than she did in her own cell. He was surprisingly neat, for someone who was constantly dirty. He had organized little piles around the room; a collection of sticks waiting to be whittled into bolts, feathers for fletching, skins from some of his kills which he had confessed he was planning to treat so that they could be used to help keep them warm through the coming winter so they didn't freeze like they had the winter before.

She looked over at the little heap of clothes in the corner. Although they weren't exactly folded, they were at least all in one place and not thrown all over the floor. She couldn't help but smile as she sorted through them; did the man actually have anything that wasn't ripped or torn nearly to pieces? She went through his shirts - not a single one with a full set of sleeves still attached. And of the three pairs of pants she found, two of them were worn clear through at the knees and the third was not far behind.

She sighed. She had been looking for something to keep her occupied and awake and she had found it. She padded silently to her cell and rummaged around for a moment before she found the small sewing kit Glenn had brought back for her after a run a few weeks ago. She grabbed a flashlight from beside her bed and went back to his cell to wile away the hours until he returned, or until sleep took her, whichever came first.

* * *

The hill wasn't really all that big, but it could have been Mount Fucking Everest as far as Daryl was concerned. He was mentally, physically and emotionally exhausted. In the long line of shitty days that made up his life, this one had been the shittiest by far.

He grunted with the effort as he climbed the last few feet to the top of the small knoll, the last obstacle between him and his destination. The prison loomed, dark and silent only a few hundred yards away now and he slumped to his knees, pulling the strap of his crossbow over his head and dropping it to the ground beside him. He was relieved to be back, he really was. But he just wasn't ready. Not yet. He wasn't ready for what he knew was to come.

He couldn't deal with the looks he knew he would get. He didn't need their pity and he didn't want it. So many times in his life, he'd been on the receiving end of those looks and he didn't know if he could stand to see it on the faces of these people who for some crazy-ass reason had decided he was a worthwhile and integral part of their miniature society. He'd put up with those looks all his life; when his mother had burned herself to a fucking crisp, or every time the cops responded to a domestic disturbance call and had to stop his asshole of a father from beatin' on his sorry ass, or whenever he showed up at the cop shop to hand over the money he'd managed to scrape together to bail Merle out of jail... again. Fuck. He'd thought that with the end of the world and all, he'd put that shit behind him. Every single person he knew was in just as miserable a situation as he was, so there was no sense in handin' out pity these days. But he knew... he just knew that the second he walked through that goddamn fence they'd put two and two together. He'd come back without his brother. Come back covered in blood; his brother's blood. They'd see him and they'd know what he'd done. What that fucking Governor left him no choice but to do. And they would pity him.

He'd seen them do it before. When Andrea'd had to put down Amy, they'd looked at the blonde like she was gonna break. And when Sophia... He shook his head. He was not gonna go there right now. After almost a year it was still too painful to think of that little girl and how he'd let her and her mother down. If he'd only been faster, smarter, better...

_Fuck_. An unpleasant mix of guilt and sadness churned in his gut. He'd screamed and railed at Carol - a grieving mother who didn't deserve his wrath but took it nonetheless - that if she'd only paid more attention to her daughter, only kept an eye on her, then Sophia'd have been okay. _Well, karma, ain't you a fucking bitch?_ he thought wryly as his own words came back to haunt him now. If he'd only stayed closer to Merle, kept a better eye on him... Merle was no child, but he was Daryl's responsibility. The only reason he'd been at the prison in the first place was because that was where Daryl wanted to be, so it fell on Daryl to keep him in line, keep him away from the others.

Taking a shaky breath, Daryl clenched his fists and pressed his knuckles against his eyes in a vain attempt to hold himself together. He couldn't lose it again, not like he had while laying in the grass beside his brother's twice-mutilated corpse. It weighed on him, that heavy burden of guilt. He'd been so fucking selfish, expecting everybody to change, to adapt just because it was what he wanted. _The great Daryl Dixon has spoken. Merle stays and to hell with all y'all if you don't like it. _

Like a fucking fool, he'd blindly hoped that it would all work out. People would just learn to accept that this was how it was. They would forgive and forget. But deep down inside, he'd known it would never happen. You couldn't force oil and water to mix and the wounds between the two sides of his family were too deep. It was only a matter of time before he was going to lose one or the other eventually.

Fucking hope and goddamn optimism.

Merle never understood what it meant to Daryl to be a part of that group, that family. With them, he was needed. He'd never had that before, not once in his pathetic life had anyone ever needed him. But _they _did. And it was more than just because he put food in their bellies and helped keep them safe. They trusted him, respected him. _Him_. He - Daryl Dixon - mattered. They looked to him for leadership, they valued his opinion, they cared about him. Before the world had gone to shit, he could've counted the number of people who'd ever given a flying fuck about him on one hand and still had fingers to spare.

And he needed them too. Glenn was right - they were his family just as much as Merle ever was. He needed Hershel's quiet wisdom, Beth's sweet kindness, the camaraderie he had with Rick, Maggie and Glenn. Hell, he was even coming around to Carl, the kid that had driven him nuts back at the farm, never staying where he was told and wanting to grow up too damn fast. And Lil Asskicker... he'd be damned if he wasn't going to be around to keep her safe. That sweet little thing was the apple of his eye and he couldn't stand to miss out on watching her grow, watching Carol lovingly tend to her as if she were her own.

Goddammit. _Carol_. How could he have even thought about leaving her? She was the best friend he'd ever had, even if she did drive him to the brink with her constant teasing and the flirting that left him baffled, confused and just a little bit flustered. Damn woman had gotten under his skin. She brought out a side to him he'd never known was there. He wanted to take care of her, not just by making sure she had a full belly and a warm place to lay her head at night. But he wanted her to be happy. More than anything else, he wanted her to be happy. He had failed her so badly back at the farm, constantly giving her hope only to have it snatched cruelly away when her little girl stumbled out of that fucking barn. But she'd never held it against him; no, it only spurred her on to make sure he didn't pull away. She was the one that truly made him feel that he had earned his place with the group despite his many shortcomings and he would remember her kindness until his dying day.

He'd put it all together in his mind not a moment too soon while wandering out in the woods with Merle after the pair of them had split from Rick and the others outside Woodbury. Each and every one of those people in the prison meant something to him. It was then that he'd made up his mind; he wasn't gonna hide in the woods tagging along after his big brother anymore. He'd found somewhere that he belonged and that's where he was going to stay.

He released a heavy breath and looked up at the prison. It was dark, but his eyesight was good and he could see a dark shape that was too tall and lanky to be anyone other than Rick standing guard up in the tower, his head slowly turning this way and that while he scanned the horizon Daryl grunted when Rick's gaze passed right by the very spot he was sitting and then kept right on going. _Fucking joke_, he grumbled to himself, slowly pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his crossbow. What the hell was the point of having people on watch if they couldn't see worth shit? He was sitting right out in the open for Christ's sake. Fucking place was going to shit and he hadn't even been gone for a whole goddamn day.

He continued his internal diatribe, latching on to the anger that had sprung up inside of him to give him the fuel he needed to trudge the last distance to the prison. Anger was something he was comfortable with. He was good at anger. He wasn't good at all this introspective bullshit he'd been doing up on that fucking hill. He mentally kicked himself for being so stupid. He was such an idiot; sitting out there alone in the dark, lost in his thoughts. What the fuck was he thinking, letting his guard down like that? He could have been walker bait, or the Governor or that sneaky fuck Martinez could've killed him where he sat and he'd never have heard them coming.

"You're a fuckin' moron," he muttered to himself as he approached the fence. "Real piece of work. Got more important things to do than sit around feeling sorry for your damn self. Merle'd kick your fuckin' ass for being such a fuckin' pussy." He clenched his jaw, trying to forget the last image he had of his brother; dead, but not dead. Advancing on him with lifeless eyes, his features contorted, blood and guts dripping from his mouth.

"Fuck you, Merle," he grumbled, swiping angrily at the tears that had come unbidden to his eyes. "Why'd you have to start givin' a shit now? You fuckin' prick. Fuckin' asshole. Useless piece of shit." He took a shaky breath and ran his fingers agitatedly through his hair. He knew he wasn't really mad at Merle. For the first time in his life, Merle had put his little brother ahead of himself, and for that Daryl was grateful. But it hurt that Merle's grand gesture, his attempt at redemption, had cost him his life. And it was easier to be mad at Merle than let himself grieve. Being mad at Merle was familiar. It was routine. And right now, it was the only thing keeping him from losing it altogether.

He glanced up at the tower again to see if Rick had spotted him yet. He hadn't. Rolling his eyes and vowing to have Hershel check Rick's eyes for night-blindness, Daryl reached down to his side to retrieve the large ring of keys jangling at his side. He'd forgotten to leave them with Rick when he took off in search of his brother, and although it was irresponsible of him to leave the group without the second set, he was glad of it now. If he had to wait for Rick to notice him standing here he'd be out here all fucking night.

It took a moment in the pale light of the moon, but he found the right key and he raised his arms to unlock the heavy padlock that held their makeshift entrance together. His hands worked quickly to unlace the wire from the fence and soon he was on the other side, winding the wire back through the mesh and snapping the padlock back into place. He leaned back against the fence and let out a heavy sigh.

For better or for worse, he was home.

He shouldered his crossbow and began the trek up the path toward the courtyard. Gravel crunched under his feet and he heard the guttural growls and moans of the walkers as his movements drew their attention. He glanced up toward the tower and saw that he had caught Rick's attention too, the man lowering his rifle and offering a wave before disappearing inside the tower, emerging seconds later through the door into the courtyard. He jogged over to the gate and unlatched the chain to draw it aside and allow Daryl to pass through before sliding it closed and securing it once more.

Daryl waited for Rick, who fell into step beside him as they slowly crossed the courtyard heading toward the entrance to the cell block. Outside the heavy doors, Rick paused, placing a stilling hand on Daryl's shoulder. Daryl stopped, but kept his eyes averted.

"Merle?" Rick asked quietly.

His mouth clamped shut, Daryl shook his head.

Rick clapped his shoulder once more, then squeezed gently with his fingers. "I'm sorry, brother. I'm so sorry."

Daryl glanced up at Rick. There was no pity in Rick's eyes. Sorrow. Understanding. But no pity. Daryl nodded his head in thanks, stepping away from Rick and heading toward the door.

"Uh... Carol was lookin' for you earlier," he heard Rick say. "Might be a bit late, but I did promise her I'd let her know when you were back." Daryl stopped in his tracks. "I can't go in yet. Got another hour on watch," Rick continued. "Maybe you can do me a favour and let her know you're alright. Wake her up if you have to. Don't think she'd mind."

Daryl nodded stiffly before he grabbed the handle and yanked open the door, slipping inside and tugging the door closed behind him. He grimaced when it slammed shut with a loud bang and he waited, straining his ears for any sign that he'd disturbed the slumbering people within. The last thing he wanted was to wake Lil Asskicker and have her bawling the rest of the night keeping everyone up.

But the silence remained and he breathed a sigh of relief. He descended the stairs into the common area, inhaling the scent of whatever the group had eaten for dinner. He could tell from the smell that Beth had probably made it. Or Maggie. Not that it smelled bad. Just that Carol's cooking always smelled fucking fantastic. He poked around and found that whatever it had been, there was none left. He huffed and grabbed a handful of crackers from a box on the shelf beside the gas cooktop, then quietly slunk into the cell block. He tiptoed up the stairs and lingered just outside Carol's cell.

It was quiet and although Rick had told him to, he just couldn't bring himself to wake her. She so rarely got a good night's sleep, getting up with the baby at all hours and getting up so early to make sure that everyone got something to eat before they headed out for the day. So he continued on toward his own cell. He tiredly shoved aside the blanket he'd hung over his door when he'd claimed this cell for his own, a feeble attempt to keep the others from invading his space, giving him the illusion of privacy and sending a clear message for everyone to keep out.

Well, almost everyone, he thought as he gazed down at the woman sound asleep on the floor beside his bed...

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**Until next time :)**

***rhymes***


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Howdy, folks! I have to start with a sincere thanks for the support I've received so far for this story. I am so pleased that people are enjoying what I've got going here, and it is very encouraging to see such positive feedback. So hugs to you all!**

**And now, without further blabbering from me, here is another chapter for your reading pleasure!**

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Without even opening her eyes, Carol knew it was morning. She could hear birds chirping and there was a rosy glow behind her eyelids that told her the sun had begun to peek over the horizon. But even as she listened to the birds singing a cheerful tune to welcome a new day, Carol's heart broke. He hadn't come back. He was still out there somewhere, whether dead or alive she didn't know.

She covered her face with her hands, her body shaking with silent sobs as her mind was overrun with a thousand possibilities as to his whereabouts, each one more grim than the last. Rolling on to her side, she curled into herself, pulling her knees up to her chest as she cried, her tears soaking into the pillow beneath her head and the metal springs of the bed creaking softly as she moved.

Wait... what? She moved again. Instead of the cold, hard cement floor she expected upon waking, she was resting in comparative luxury on a thin foam mattress. The last thing she remembered was sitting on the floor in the middle of Daryl's cell...

_She had been working steadily, the small flashlight clamped between her teeth, a tiny circle of light illuminating her hands as she patched the final pair of Daryl's pants. After tying off and snipping the thread, she held up the pants to admire her work. It was nothing spectacular, but it was functional and she hoped Daryl would appreciate the thought behind it._

_She picked up one of his shirts, fingering the frayed edge where there had once been a sleeve. She didn't have enough fabric to make a new one so she settled for folding over the edge in a neat hem so at the very least, the shirt wouldn't unravel any more than it already had. She finished one shirt and was just starting on another when her lids began to droop heavily with sleep. Giving her head a quick shake, Carol slapped her cheeks in an effort to keep herself awake. The last thing she wanted to do was sleep. She was afraid she would fall back into that dream, where he had come back to her, but not in the way she wanted. He had come back as some undead thing and she couldn't run the risk of letting that image of him consume her again._

_But despite her best efforts, her body began to sag, her movements getting clumsy with weariness. She pricked her finger with the needle and let out a hiss before tucking the finger between her lips. She blinked heavily, her head foggy with the need for sleep and although her mind fought it, her body won out and she slowly lowered herself on to her side, using Daryl's poncho as a makeshift pillow, his shirt still clutched in her hand as she drifted off to sleep..._

Cracking open her eyes, Carol took in her surroundings. She was still in Daryl's cell. His clothes were still strewn about the floor. But she was curled up on the bottom bunk of his bed, his blankets tucked up around her. She wiggled her toes... her feet were bare and she caught sight of her boots sitting neatly side by side beside the door. She frowned. Surely she would remember getting up to take off her boots. Wouldn't she? She allowed her eyes to continue to roam and her heart jumped up into her throat. There, leaning up against the far wall, was his crossbow.

Forgetting where she was, Carol sat up too quickly, hissing in pain when her head collided sharply with the underside of the top bunk. She absently rubbed what was sure to be a formidable goose-egg by the end of the day, but barely registered the pain as she kicked her legs free of the blankets. The floor was freezing on her bare feet but she didn't care. Pushing herself up from the mattress, she stood and turned toward the bed.

Tears welled up in her eyes and she covered her mouth with a shaking hand to stifle the sob that threatened to erupt. Daryl was sprawled out on the top bunk, one arm flung over his eyes while the other rested on his chest, which rose and fell in a slow, even rhythm. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, and Carol stood there mesmerized at the sight before her eyes. He was really here. He'd come back.

"Your mama never teach you it ain't polite to stare?"

His voice was gravelly with sleep, with a hint of annoyance at having been disturbed, but Carol didn't care. Her bottom lip began to quiver and she stared at him with wide, watery eyes.

"I-I'm just really glad you're back," she managed to choke out.

He raised the arm from his face and peered at her, his blue eyes narrowed.

"Why ya starin' at me like you seen a ghost then?" he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "An' why ya cryin'?"

Carol shook her head and laughed. "Happy tears?" she offered by way of an explanation.

Daryl rolled his eyes before covering them once again with his arm and shifting slightly on the mattress, clearly uncomfortable at being the cause of her tears, happy or not. "Damn women. Never understand y'all," he grumbled. When Carol continued to stare at him, he raised his arm again and glared at her. "Gonna stand there cryin' all day? Ain't got nothin' better to do?"

Despite his snappish tone, Carol smiled. She reached out and squeezed his arm. "I'm glad you're back, Daryl," she said quietly. "We missed you. I missed you."

She saw the corner of his mouth quirk up into that small half-smile of his, the one that made her heart do a neat little flip-flop in her chest. The one that he rarely shared, but when he did, it was tantamount to an expression of utmost joy. She let her hand linger on his arm for a moment longer, her thumb lightly skimming over his skin and she savoured his warmth and the swell of muscle just below the surface.

"Merle," she began timidly, "... did you... is he...?" The rest of her question died on her lips at the pained expression that flickered across his face. His smile disappeared and he cast his gaze to the ceiling above him, his jaw tense and his body suddenly rigid. "He's not comin' back," he said, his voice flat. Carol waited for him to elaborate, but he remained silent. Finally, he rolled on to his side, his back to her. Clearly, the conversation was over.

There were a million things Carol wanted to say, questions she wanted to ask. Was Merle alive? Had Daryl even found him? She had no idea. All she knew was that he was hurting and she had no idea how to help him. Getting him to talk, to open up, was hard at the best of times. But when something was really troubling him, he tended to close in on himself, keeping it all inside until something set him off and he lashed out at the most convenient target. She clearly remembered the tirade he had unleashed on her back at the Greene's farm, and the self-loathing that had taken over the moment his anger had abated. He'd hated himself for what he'd said to her, and she didn't want him to go through that again. He'd come so far since then, but old habits were hard to break.

He had such a hard time accepting kindness from others, but he had a good heart. He was always putting others ahead of himself, even now when it was clear that he desperately needed to grieve, his main concern was the safety of their group. She shook her head sadly. And last night... God, he must have been exhausted, completely spent, and yet he'd taken the time for her. He had scooped her up and tucked her into his own bed before collapsing on the top bunk himself. During her 15 year marriage, Ed had never done a single thing half as kind as that for her. Not once.

Bending down, Carol collected his poncho from the nest she'd made on the floor the night before. Standing on her tiptoes, she spread it out over him and reached out to smooth her hand over his unruly hair.

"I know you don't want to hear it," she said softly, "But we do care about you, Daryl. I care about you. And if there's anything I can do to make this easier for you..." She shrugged her shoulders helplessly and fresh tears sprung to her eyes, which she hastily wiped away. "Please, don't go through this alone."

He remained silent and motionless and Carol let out a sigh before heading for her own cell, grabbing her boots from where Daryl had left them by the door. As she pushed aside the blanket that served as his door, she paused at the sound of his voice.

"Carol?"

"Yes?" she asked tentatively.

"Thank you."

The words were quiet, barely above a whisper. But the hope that they instilled echoed loudly in Carol's heart.

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**That's all for now. Until next time...**

***rhymes***


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